Warning: teh sex.

Chapter 9

She said his name.

It was clipped, grainy from the hiss of the radio, but she said it. He was enraptured, staring at the faint outline of the walkie in the dim candlelight like it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did.

He never heard her say it before. Not that he heard more than three or four sentences and a fiery, soul-searing insult come from her mouth, but—

"Joseph?" she said again, a question now, and Joseph realized that he should probably stop gawking and answer her.

He scrambled up from the floor abruptly, hissing when his knee collided with the altar and nearly knocked over the candles. He snatched up his radio and cradled it close, frowning when he caught a slight tremble in his hands. A million reasons Rook could have decided to contact him now flew through his mind—she was hurt somewhere and needed help, she wanted to remind him she hated him, she was fleeing the county and never wanted to see him again (unlikely, since he doubted she'd contact him for that), she wanted to profess her undying love (even less likely), she wanted answers for why he suddenly ended the war. He decided that last one must be the case and settled down a little.

Joseph's thumb pressed down on the button and he took a breath, but nothing came out. Should he say her name? Did he have that right yet? Or would she question how he knew it to begin with?

"Deputy," he said instead, quietly, calmly, entirely contrary to the absolute panic making his blood pulse through him at mach speed. "What-what can I do for you?"

Damn it, why did he stutter? She was going to think him a coward. Although that was probably low on the list of terrible things she thought of him.

"I need you to meet me somewhere," Rook said curtly after a moment. "Cooper Cabin, in the Whitetail Mountains. Just southwest of the Park Ranger Station."

"I know it," Joseph breathed.

She wanted to see him.

"Alone," she snapped. A dog barked in the background, but she hushed it. "None of your Peggie guards. If I find anyone sneaking around, I'm gone."

"Yes, I'll—yes."

She wanted to see him!

She didn't sound hurt, so this wasn't a call for rescue (not that he'd likely be her first call) so this must either be a questioning… or a stalemate. He pressed the walkie to his mouth so hard the plastic creaked, trying to bite back a hopeful smile. He jumped to his feet, pocketing the radio and power-walking out of the cabin, unwilling to keep her waiting. The night was humid enough that any thoughts of stopping to grab a jacket (or a shirt) were far from his mind, and if any of his Flock noticed the Father sneaking over to one of their trucks, there weren't any protests that Joseph lingered long enough to hear.

At first he gave into the urge to speed, the gas pedal practically slammed onto the floor, but he had to swerve to avoid a herd of pronghorns in the road by the old general store and decided it would be a better idea not to kill himself before he reached her. He reluctantly braked, muttering under his breath a quiet prayer for strength, and felt up the outline of the walkie in his pocket when that wasn't enough. She would wait, he reassured himself—for whatever reason, she wanted to see him. This wasn't like all the other times, where he had to rush to her side before she slipped through his fingers again. This time it was an invitation.

He turned onto the side road sharp enough to make his neck ache a little, the tiny ember of hope in his gut warming further with the thought, even with the knowledge that this could (and likely would, with his track record) go very wrong. He slammed onto the brakes when he spotted an ATV parked at the tree line, along a dirt path he knew led to a cluster of cabins on the lake. He let out another noise when he accidentally clipped his head against the roof of the truck trying to throw himself out. He had to get it together before he made her think he was an uncoordinated idiot, Joseph thought with a scowl as he massaged his head.

This time, he was cautious as he maneuvered his way in the dark over the rocky ground. The moonlight barely shone enough through the trees for Joseph to find his way, the trail just pale enough to see which direction to go in. He cursed himself in his mind for not thinking to bring a flashlight in his haste, feeling decidedly stupid and hoping she wasn't watching as he did his best to avoid errant tree roots. His hands came up to rub at his face, chuckling to himself underneath the screech of crickets and the low bleat of frogs. If his siblings knew what he was doing… John would probably want to flay him later, especially considering how long Joseph ordered him to be kept safe in the Gate. Jacob would probably shout about survival mistakes, like the fact that Joseph didn't bring so much as a knife with him.

A flash of crimson light caught his eye, and he whipped around as a cabin loomed into view. He frowned when he found no porch light, and the windows were boarded up with wood paneling, so they could not be the source. He looked down, and froze when he found a red dot centered precisely in the middle of his chest.

A bizarre numbness settled over him. His head rose slowly to find his soulmate standing like a sentinel on top of the rocky hillside, a sniper rifle almost half her size perched on her shoulder and her eye behind the scope. The moonlight created a pale blue-white aura that outlined her lithe frame like a spirit, and despite likely being seconds from death Joseph couldn't help but marvel a little at the ethereal sight. He swallowed and shut his eyes, bracing for his Deputy's vengeance to tear a hole right between his lungs, but he opened them again when he heard a click and the rustling of metal against fabric. Rook now had her rifle propped on her shoulder and a scowl on her face, and the tension melted from his shoulders when he realized this would not be the moment of his death.

"You came alone?" she said in a clipped tone.

Joseph nodded, watching her look him over and pretending he wasn't doing the same. Her nose was wrinkled in disapproval, but he was more preoccupied by the marveling at the silvery halo the moonlight cast on her hair and feeling jealous of the holsters hugging her thighs like a lover.

"You trusted me enough to actually come alone?"

"Nobody even knows I left," Joseph assured her, but if anything that made her look even more bemused.

"And it never occurred to you that I might not do the same?"

He blinked when he realized a Rook-led Resistance ambush was, in fact, the furthest thing from his mind. She caught the expression and frowned, her hip cocking to the side as her posture shifted into an exasperated contrapposto.

"Are you even armed?" she exclaimed, and he just stared. She shook her head and muttered, "Jesus Christ, how the hell did you even survive this long…?"

"Uhh…" was Joseph's surprisingly inarticulate response for someone so used to preaching his word, as she turned away and stomped down the rocky hillside towards the porch.

"Come on," Rook said brusquely, gesturing him over with the end of her gun, of all things.

He hastened to obey, glad the darkness of the night hid the warmth spreading over his cheeks, surprised at his own foolishness. She pushed the door open with her boot, bullet holes riddling the already chipped white paint, revealing a dim orange glow coming from a scattering of oil lamps laid out on the floor. There were dark stains on the floor that suggested someone had bled out here, but the blood had been scrubbed away. A green plaid couch had been pulled up to a small wood-burning fireplace, Rook's scruffy dog curled up on top of it. The dog lifted his head off his paws and whuffed in greeting at Rook, giving Joseph little more than a curious head tilt before settling back down.

He lingered in the doorway, wondering if this was where she had set herself up for the last week, taking in the set up as Rook dumped her many (many) arms into an already-formed pile of weapons. He huffed out a laugh at the sight—leave it to his warrior to keep an emergency stockpile of enough guns to wreck a small army—but he bit it back when she shot him a sharp look as she shimmied the rifle's strap over her head.

Joseph's attention turned instead to drinking in the sight of her again, pleased to find her much less gaunt than before, like she'd had a few solid weeks of good meals. Her hair was left to hang wild over her shoulders instead of being slapped back into a practical bun or a braid. It was so long now, he noticed, the firelit ends dancing around her hips where it had hung neatly at her shoulders in his church. Her clothes seemed in poorer condition—the apparently well-loved bomber jacket was covered in little nicks and slices (better it than her, he thought). The knife wound on her throat was little more than a shiny pink scar that stretched whenever she arched her neck, and his sinful mind was immediately thrown back into the Bliss, where he'd had the privilege of tonguing at the mark. He looked away quickly, ashamed of thinking in such a manner when she had graced him with this olive branch.

"Is this where you've been?" Joseph allowed himself to ask, taking one step into her space.

The dog lifted its head again and stared him down, but didn't do much beyond that, apparently mulling over whether or not he was a threat. Rook, on the other hand, shucked off her bomber jacket and tossed it carelessly into the corner, revealing bare, well-toned arms with far, far too many scars over them, and twice as many freckles. She turned back around to face him and crossed her arms.

"You been having me followed or something?" she asked coolly, leaning her weight against a kitchen counter laden with ammunition. "Not that it's a stretch, for how many times you've already had me kidnapped."

"I've been waiting for news," Joseph admitted, glancing down at his clasped hands in deference. "You are usually… very vocal."

"Vocal," she snorted with an eye roll, and he shifted uncomfortably.

God protect him, this was painfully awkward. How exactly was he supposed to sidestep the fact that she was probably responsible for slaughtering half his Flock… or the fact that he started the war to begin with? Had he ruined any chance of earning her love the moment he declared the Reaping and left her to die in that helicopter?

"How are your wrists?" he asked instead.

For the first time, Rook didn't glare at him. Instead she shuffled in place and rubbed at the skin of her wrists, the floor suddenly of great interest to her. The curtain of her hair hid her face from him.

"What are you playing at?" she asked quietly, not with accusation.

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. He had the answer—she was his soulmate, he worried about her wellbeing, he had enough regrets about his treatment of her (direct or otherwise) to fill every square inch of space in his bunker, he probably loved her more than he loved God and was undoubtedly going to Hell for that—but he had the feeling none of those answers would sit well with her.

"There are no games, Rook," he said instead, taking off his aviators to rub at his face again. "Not with you."

"Really?" she scoffed, and he flinched under his fingers at her harsh tone. "What exactly am I supposed to think when I'm chained to a chair one second and then coming out to find the war over the next?"

She was angry with him about that? He did it for her!

"Would you prefer it if we were still slaughtering each other?" Joseph asked, a little sharply.

"No, I—of course not!" Rook exclaimed, blinking like she was shocked at his impatience, and he felt the slightest bit guilty. "I just… don't get it. You were always so sure."

His mind flashed back to that first night—an angry Flock, a soul mark uttered with confidence as he held out his wrists for her judgement, "no one is coming to save you…"—and he huffed again. He was sure, and then she came.

"I was mistaken," Joseph admitted, hanging his head.

"And I'm supposed to believe you figured that out, just out of the blue?" Rook snapped—back to anger, it seemed. "It's been months, Joseph, since your fucked-up Reaping started, and now you just suddenly decide to do a complete one-eighty and leave everyone alone, turn your psycho siblings into a facade of halfway decent people? Did your God just randomly decide to come down and smack some fucking sense into you? Do you know half the shit your little mistake has cost?"

He ignored the blasphemy and closed his eyes against her verbal lashing, wondering if it was possible to hear his own heart breaking. He deserved this.

"...Jacob fucking starving people and turning them into goddamn sleeper agents, Faith making literal zombies with that Bliss shit… And what the fuck even is John? Skinning people and hanging them from meat hooks, never mind the dead crows nailed to that fucking church…" What? "Did you know about that, or were you busy ordering your crazy family to kidnap me?"

"I did not," Joseph whispered, addressing the floor. "I… This war grew too great to remain in my control."

"Real convenient that your god didn't tell you about that," Rook snarked, and the jab hit him harder than she probably meant it to—how could she know Joseph had been bereft of His voice despite his deepest prayers?

"You are right, Rook, it's my fault," he breathed around the lump in his throat. "I spent so many years thinking I was doing the right thing, but then it all went wrong. God tried to show me, and I ignored Him until I couldn't anymore. I thought you were Hell, but you were my sign."

"Oh for fuck's sake—can you just talk like a normal fucking person, please?" she snarled.

"Don't you see, Rook?" Joseph exclaimed, the words coming out almost as a growl. "I had everything planned, and then He sent you. You were supposed to be nothing more than the thorn in our side, the Hell sent to raze our corner of the world until He returned to bring us into a new Eden. But then you were my soulmate, and none of it made sense anymore. How could you be our destroyer and a piece of my soul at the same time? It didn't make sense."

He clutched at his chest when it became hard to breathe, and he took a stumbling step towards Rook as if unconsciously begging her to resolve it. She looked uncertain but didn't back away, a pink tinge blossoming in her cheeks and her shoulders tightening with his proximity.

"And-and then every time I got close to you, I hurt you," he hissed. "It didn't matter what I did, how careful I was—something always went wrong, and it was always my fault."

He felt his shoulders hunch inward a little as everything just felt too much to hold upright anymore. His kneecaps blossomed with pain as he found himself dropping to his knees before her, aviators falling with a clatter onto the floor, reaching out with desperate deference to grasp at the hem of her shirt as his head fell to rest once again on the warm pillow of her thigh.

"Oh," she said in shock, just like last time, but he wasn't finished.

"Forgive me, Rook. You thought me a monster, and then you spoke my words and I realized you were right—you were right. You ruined our work, just like you were supposed to, but it was because it was wrong! It was me—I was the destroyer, not you. The false prophet, the man of sin…"

"Um," was Rook's uncertain reply, but she seemed to pull herself together enough to say, with an edge of hesitant sarcasm, "Pretty sure Revelations isn't supposed to be taken that literally, Joseph. You're not the Antichrist."

"Perhaps not, but I am a monster," Joseph answered wearily, the bloodstained floorboards swimming as tears finally started to sting his eyes. "I almost let you burn in that helicopter, because I couldn't believe you could be my soulmate, and I would have never known your splendor. I nearly killed you again in the Bliss. I killed my daughter, Rook. She wasn't supposed to live, but I was the one who did it. My baby girl," he croaked, a broken sob following his words, and he pressed himself a little closer hoping whatever made Rook sanctimoniously good would spill over to him and fill the gaping hole in his chest. He heard her make a sad little 'oh', but before she could break him further with her pity he continued, "I started this war, hoping to force some extra souls into being saved whether or not they wanted saving, but it cost more than it would have been worth. And you were the signpost telling me to turn back that I ignored over and over again, until I couldn't. Even when I saw you beaten and bruised, fighting us, I kept it going."

"But you didn't," Rook said, and despite how quiet the statement was it tore through him like a bullet. She bit her lip and turned away from his questioning gaze when he lifted his teary face to stare up at her, but added on a stammer, "You-you said so. In the Bliss. You said you weren't certain anymore, and that you wanted to stop the war."

"I haven't been certain of anything since I first saw you in my church," Joseph confessed, bowing his head in deference to her again. "What do I do, Rook? Tell me, before I do something else wrong."

"You did it already," she said, a tinge of weariness in her voice, and he would have looked up again if not for the leather-covered fingers that swept lightly into his hair, so instead he just melted in the wake of her little gesture of comfort. "The war's over. No one has to die anymore."

The statement broke his heart all over again.

"They'll all die, Rook. The Collapse will come. This was the last thing God showed me directly. This is the one thing that is wholly unquestionable."

"Joseph," she answered in exasperation, but sighed. "Let's say you're right and the president gets us nuked, or whatever. You're all just going to hole yourself up in bunkers for fuck knows how long, and then what? Try and-and build a new life in the barren, radioactive hellscape?"

"Seven years, we will wait, and then we will emerge into a new Eden," Joseph said on his own sigh, wishing he had shown her that part of his vision when they were in the Bliss. "It will be a bountiful garden, a place of peace. I need only for people to live long enough to see it."

She made a sound, almost like an amused little huff like she couldn't quite believe it, and this time he did give in and look up. He found her staring at him with furrowed brows, a questioning gaze, and a quirked-up corner of her mouth in the ghost of a smile that she was trying to bite back, and oh, he never saw her smile at him before, and it was beautiful.

"You're not at all like I thought," Rook said, and the cold pit of grief was warmed by a tiny ember of hope flickering to life.

Oh, this precious, wonderful woman. He let go of his grip on her shirt and took her gloved hands instead, cradling one with his rosary-covered palm and pulling the other up so he could press his mouth to it in a reverent kiss—and reverence it was, because she was too good to really be his, and God permitting, he wanted to worship at her altar.

"That you can see any good left in me is itself a miracle," he murmured, nuzzling his cheek into the leather. "Can you ever forgive me for what I've done, Rook?"

"Um," was once again her answer, and he opened his eyes again to find her blushing furiously. "Yes? Yeah, I—I guess." Joseph relaxed again in pure relief, feeling the last of his grief leak out of him like sins being washed away, only just catching the end of, "…fuck me, you do everything cranked up to eleven, huh?"

He chuckled, his breath blowing in a warm rush over her knuckles. "I suppose I do."

They fell silent—or rather she did, as Joseph distracted himself with wondering if he was permitted to take off her gloves, wanting to press his lips to skin instead of leather. Was that a line he was able to cross yet? He blinked when he noticed her staring down at him, her face pulled back down into an uncertain frown he'd seen her wear for far too long, and Joseph pulled his face away from her hand, worrying he had indeed overstepped his boundaries.

"Is your soul mark really 'fuck you'?" was Rook's question instead, stated so bluntly that Joseph was caught off guard and laughed before he could think to stop it.

Biting it back into a smile, he let go of her and pulled the clinging beads off of his hand, letting them fall to the floor in a clatter of wood on wood. He presented his palm to her, watching with amusement as she echoed his laugh, reaching out to prod the mark with her leather-covered fingertips in disbelief.

"Wow," Rook exclaimed, coaxing another laugh out of him. "That's just unfortunate."

He disagreed—nothing that embodied her was unfortunate—but let her caress his hand without complaint. He wanted to see hers as well, never having managed to catch even a glimpse of it after all this time, but hesitated once more as he wondered if he was entitled to do so. Whatever mutual ground they had just established felt like it was made of glass; one wrong step and he'd crack it, just like he had before. Rook sent him a questioning look when he began to frown, and he decided to risk it, if only because he was selfish.

"Can I," he began, but had to swallow, "can I see yours?"

Rook did not get angry with him, which was good. Instead, to his surprise, a furious blush darkened her face to the point where her freckles disappeared, and her gaze immediately snapped to the ground.

"Uh, it-it's not exactly visible without taking off my pants," she stammered, squirming in place.

Joseph short-circuited, blood immediately rushing south when he realized what exactly that meant. His eyes grew wide and his ears hot as his helpful imagination conjured up a thousand images for where his words might be etched—curving around her thigh, snaking up towards her hip, cradling the swell of her ass—hidden from his prying eyes by denim and propriety, the stupid idea that was, who even invented it anyway?

"…oh, fuck me," he heard Rook curse, and his sinful mind immediately thought 'well, if you insist' before he could stop it. "I didn't mean—that's not—I mean, I wasn't… ugh," tumbled in frustration out of her mouth, one hand flying up to tug at her own hair.

If Joseph had enough sense to be conscious of anything but her and his own feverish haze, he might have realized he was staring up at her like he embodied Lust, his breath rattling out a little heavier than normal and his marked hand still cradling hers with a slight tremble. As such, he only noticed when Rook herself glanced down at him and froze, her upset expression softening into something not unlike their time in the Bliss, and fuck if that didn't make his blood boil even hotter.

"Fuck it," Rook hissed out finally, and Joseph would later remark that he wouldn't mind that being his soul mark either, mostly because of what followed.

The breath was knocked out of him as Rook hurled herself forward and pushed him backwards onto the floor, her mouth sealing over his before he could think to take another breath, and if his death was to be by suffocating under Rook's soft lips, he would do so gladly. He moaned when his little soulmate molded herself on top of him as if trying to close any possible space between them, shoving her hands into his hair and angling his head like she wanted, their bond pulsing in a pleasant throb as her blunt nails trailed over his scalp. Any thoughts of boundaries or reasons to hesitate utterly fled him, and Joseph happily let his hands push their way up the back of her shirt to grope at her bare skin, his blood thrumming at the contact.

Rook pulled her mouth away and he whined in protest, but she didn't leave him bereft for long. Instead, while she busied herself with tearing off her gloves (with her teeth again, he noticed with delight, the savage thing) she shifted her weight off her knees and ground her thigh against his inseam, and Joseph immediately learned what it felt like to fly. The back of his head collided with the floorboards and he cried out unabashedly, his hands scrambling off her back to seize her waist and press her down harder, hips rising up to meet her as eagerly as in the Bliss. She made a broken little sound before her mouth slammed back down onto his, her tongue curling over his in a sloppy dance—was that his fault, it had been years, years since he'd been with anyone, the last had been his wife—and it took him a moment to realize she was now dragging her hand down his bare chest towards where their hips were connected, and Joseph slammed his head back down at where this was surely headed. This wasn't Rook high on Bliss and their unfulfilled bond. This was sober agency. This was Rook wanting him.

She started fumbling with the cross-shaped buckle, still biting at his lips hungrily, and Joseph took the liberty of reenacting their time in the Bliss by sliding his hands up her tank top over her skin, littered with small bumps and smooth scars that he was determined to find out the stories of later, and slipped one hand under her bra like he knew she wanted. His palm curled around warm, soft flesh with reverence, and Rook mewled again and pushed her breast closer into his hand with a little wriggle that had the added benefit of grinding down into his erection again. It was unsatisfying this time—he wanted to feel his skin sliding along hers, untempered by rough denim and other offending fabrics, so he made a desperate noise that wasn't totally voluntary and tugged impatiently at her tank top with his free hand. She huffed out a chuckle and obliged, pulling both her mouth and hand away (why did he want that again?) before gripping the hem of her shirt with both hands and pulling it over her head (oh that's why), wisps of hair settling down to cling to her obscenely wet lips. He watched in awe as she unclasped her raggedy black bra without moving his hand, the material falling away to reveal his fingers cradling the swell of her, and what a lovely sight that was. 'WRATH' shouted at him along the arch of her collarbone, and he felt a pang of regret at the sight of such a lovely pale canvas marred by the inky scrawl, like his brother had graffitied an angel's wing.

"Is this how you dreamt about me?" came Rook's husky siren call through the fog, and he blinked up at her.

"Huh?" was his eloquent response, followed by an equally elegant cry of, "Ah!" when she rocked her hips again.

"In the Bliss," Rook hummed, a drop of sweat tracing a path down her neck and into the dip of her throat, Joseph's eyes following the whole while. "You said you dream about me, and asked if I do too." His face burned at the remembrance of his own Bliss-addled confession (wasn't she half-asleep then?) but the rest of him practically caught fire when she mirrored his blush and said quietly, "I do, Joseph. Couldn't stop it."

Even if Rook decided she never wanted anything to do with him after this night, Joseph decided he was going to die a happy man just from knowing he wasn't the only one tormented at night by his other half. She gasped out when Joseph rewarded her for the wonderful revelation with a jerk of his hips and a pinch to her nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

"What did you dream about?" he asked on an exhale, shocked at his own boldness, but that might have had something to do with the gorgeous half-naked woman writhing on top of him.

"You touching me," was Rook's simple but soul-searing reply, her fingers back to tugging at his belt buckle with much less patience than before. "Why did you think I was such a lech when I was high on that Bliss shit? Wanted your fingers on me. Wanted them everywhere."

He huffed out a laugh, his free hand taking the liberty to start playing with the hem of her jeans as he confessed, "You set me on fucking fire when you first touched me at my church, Rook." Her mouth parted into a little 'o' at the drop of the curse word, but he wasn't done. "Couldn't stop thinking about it when I realized why, even before that. That was just the first night I dreamed about you. Oh," he breathed when she finally managed to yank open his belt and unzip his jeans, fingers dipping inside.

"Did you touch yourself after?" his Rook whispered with absolutely no shame.

"Yes!" Joseph cried when she gripped him under his jeans, kicking his head back at the sweet agony.

They devolved after that into desperate movements, Joseph a writhing mess under her touch with the barest forethought to begin tugging at her jeans, Rook looking amused for the split second up until Joseph latched his mouth around that spot on her neck—the one from before in the Bliss that she seemed liked so much, he remembered, he'd never forget. Her grip around his cock went slack, which was good because he was afraid he might actually come just from the gentle touches, and this needed to last longer than that. He lifted her up off him for a soul-shattering moment when he managed to get her jeans undone, pulling them down her thighs with an impatient tug along with her boots. She had less scars there, her thighs a creamy white expanse of nearly unblemished skin save for the occasional nick and a nasty hole-shaped scar undoubtedly left by his eldest brother's hunters, the black panties stark against the paleness of her.

She sent him a coy look that he took as unnecessary—she already had him utterly wrapped up in her, why bother, not that it wasn't appreciated—but when she took his soul-marked hand and drew it up her left thigh, knees parted slightly to allow it, he realized why.

God will not let you take me curled its way high up her inner thigh like the purest irony. Such a sinful place to have such righteous words, especially considering how Joseph was prepared to see them. He then decided that they were wrong—not even God could stop him from taking her—and before he could question how blasphemous such a thought was, he coaxed her mostly nude frame forward with a gentle push on her pert little ass and licked a wet line up the mark.

"Oh-holy-Jesus-fuck," she stuttered out like the heathen she was, eyes falling shut as his mouth crept higher, crying out an extra, "Oh God," when he pushed aside her panties and finally pushed his tongue between her folds, and fuck she was already so wet.

Joseph tugged her forward still until she was practically sitting on his face, her eager hands already tugging at her own nipples as she rocked against his mouth like a harlot, and it was perfect. He circled her hard little clit with the flat of his tongue and reveled in every jerk it elicited from her hips, and his cock throbbed in tandem with her moans. He briefly entertained the thought of reaching down to grip himself just to take the edge off, but this was about her—it always had been, and he could wait, he always could.

"Noo…" tumbled out of Rook's mouth on a whine, and she wriggled away from his mouth with shaky movements. He lifted his head, wondering if he'd hurt her, but she shook her disheveled head at him as if she could read his mind. "Too good, too close."

Why was this a problem?

"Want to make you come," Joseph growled, pure heat shooting south and making his dick jerk at the thought.

"Wanna do it on your cock," she breathed, and it set him on fire, not for the first time.

"Fuck," was his reply, hips jerking up so hard he almost pushed her off him.

Rook grinned with pure sin and tugged his jeans down, and he sat up to help, the two maneuvering his boots and pants off him as quickly as possible. Her gaze dipped immediately to his dick, which jerked again under her scrutiny, and he mumbled a quick prayer that she wouldn't take him in her mouth to return the favor, because he definitely wouldn't survive it. Instead she shuffled forward on her knees to hover over his lap, as if to lower herself onto him, and his entire body throbbed with anticipation, but there was still one thing, not that he didn't want, but she surely wouldn't be ready—

"Wait, we don't have…" Joseph began, but Rook shushed him and took him in hand to angle him at her entrance, murmuring, "IUD, don't worry."

Smart girl, his Rook. This was the last coherent thought before he was sliding into warm, wet heat and it had been so long, and never this good. He gripped her hips still with a sob when she sank all the way down on him, fearing he'd go off before this even started, but Rook made it absurdly hard what with all the whining and the impatient twitching of her hips. She shoved him back down onto the floor so roughly his shoulder blades knocked uncomfortably against the unforgiving wood (his back was going to be killing him tomorrow) but he ignored it in favor of watching her rise off his cock and sink back down slowly, teeth sinking into her lip enticingly.

He was right, Joseph realized with an internal laugh. She did like to be on top.

"This what you dreamt about, Joseph?" she hummed, whining when he lifted his hands again to play with her tits.

He nodded, mouth dropped open in awe.

"Dreamt about more," he admitted, pulling and pinching at her nipples like she did to herself when she was riding his tongue.

"Like what?" Rook said with a shivery little moan that'd probably be starring in said dreams from now on.

"Too much to list."

This was true, but Joseph also wasn't sure he could string together coherent enough sentences for her to understand.

"We'll do it all," she promised, and then absolutely slammed herself down on his cock when he made a wrecked sound at the prospect and tore his hand from her breast to slip over her clit in circles.

"Was this what you dreamed about, Rook?" he asked eagerly, drinking in the little tremble in her thighs with every clumsy flick of his fingers.

She answered with a wild moan at first, hair tossed back with beautiful abandon, before a breathy chuckle pierced the air. "I mostly dreamed of you bending me over one of those church pews, but can't say I'm disappointed right now."

He blushed like a virgin on her wedding night, because the thought was utterly blasphemous, and exactly what he too had dreamt of. "You wicked little hell child."

"Says the preacher who never wears a shirt," Rook replied smartly, eyes briefly closing when he pinched her nipple in retaliation.

He'll never wear one again.

"What kind of sounds would you make if I did take you in my church, darling?" he wondered huskily, before his hips vaulted off the floor to meet her change in angle.

"Oh, fuck, Joseph!" she screamed, and he figured that might be his answer.

They spoke in moans after that, barring the occasional name drop or stolen kiss or a broken little, "Again," or "Yes," every now and then as they fucked like reunited long-lost lovers on the floor. He felt the tight sharpness of pleasure ratcheting higher and higher with each glide of her cunt around his cock and urged her to slow down with an incoherent, jumbled cry and a squeeze around her breast (which in hindsight probably didn't convey the message very well, seeing as Rook seemed to like it), trying to somehow let her know that he wasn't going to make it if she kept up like this, he wasn't as young as her, he'd had nothing but his dreams and his hand (and most of the time not even that) for so long. But it didn't matter—Rook's moans started hitching, the sweet cadence rising with every thrust of her hips until her hands started scrambling desperately over his chest as if to try and tell him the same thing.

"Press harder," she whined, and he made a similar noise when she accidentally caught his nipple with her wandering hands, "I'm gonna fucking come, oh God, Joseph—"

"Yes, do it on me, love," he breathed, fighting against the urge to shut his eyes as her thrusts got so fast and hard her hips were a blur.

In all his dreams, he watched her come—under him, on top of him, on his tongue, fingers, it didn't matter—but even he couldn't have dreamed up all the beautiful little ways her body let loose as her orgasm crashed over her. Her head tipped back, soul-marked thighs trembling, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows drawn up in pained ecstasy, her moans sounding almost shocked at how good it was as her hands absolutely yanked at his hair. Apparently that did it for him, because Joseph had no choice but to slam his eyes shut, dick jerking inside of her as he filled her, cries so loud he wondered if someone wouldn't come barging in to investigate. Her hips kept moving in little twitches as her moans lessened into little whimpers, until it got to be too much for the both of them and he stilled her hips with a tight grip, his ears ringing from the pleasure (or their combined volume, he'd figure out which later). He wasn't quite willing to let her lift herself off him yet, though, and so he drew his arms up around her until she was pressed into his chest. She took it upon herself to tuck her head under his chin in such a clear gesture of affection that it hurt his heart, just a little bit.

"You're perfect," he told her, the urge to sing all his praises of her at this exact second surprisingly strong, but he settled for just that one for now.

She blew out a laugh against his collarbone, and he couldn't tell if it was one of amusement or disbelief—no matter, he would show her later, over and over again.

"We should get off the floor," Rook suggested, and for a moment Joseph was worried the moment was over and she would go back to being distant and cold, but she lifted her head to smile up at him so, so beautifully it stole the air from his lungs. "What?" she added, when he just stared.

"You're perfect," Joseph repeated dumbly, because that was all he could think of to summarize his thoughts.

"Fuck you," she replied with a smirk, and Joseph threw back his head and laughed so uproariously it echoed through the cabin.

"Say it again," Joseph grinned when he was done laughing.

"You have to earn it," Rook said dryly, wriggling out of his grip, but Joseph's grin only widened and he flopped back down onto the hard floor, pleased at the implicit promise that he would have the chance to 'earn it' again. "Ugh," she added when she lifted herself off him, his spend trickling down her thighs (and over the mark, and if his earlier thought wasn't blasphemy, that definitely had to be).

"Does this place have working water?" Joseph asked, searching around for something to clean them off with and finding only her dirty tank top.

"No hot water, but the bathtub works," Rook replied.

Before he could suggest they brave the cold water together, she leaned over and settled herself back in his lap without any more attention paid to the mess they'd made. He let out a pleased sound and drew her back into his grasp, reveling in the blatant display of affection from her. Did this mean she had no intention of leaving, or making him go without her for any longer? He made another noise and tightened his grip at the thought, surprising himself with his own desperation at never being separated from her again.

At the risk of ruining the mood, Joseph asked quietly, "Does this mean you'll stay with me?"

Rook pulled her head off his chest, and Joseph's heart started a tarantella in his chest, but Rook didn't look upset. She looked… contemplative, and a little uncertain.

"I'm not exactly partial to your creepy doomsday bunkers, Joseph," Rook said with a frown. "Not to mention how many of your people I killed and/or tried killing me first."

"Not right away," he promised, lifting her hand back up to his mouth so he could press unrestrained kisses to her fingertips. "Not if you don't want to. But when the Collapse comes—"

"If," Rook interrupted with a deeper frown, one which he mirrored.

"Rook," he said seriously. "It will come. You will not have to doubt me for much longer. But please, please come to me when it does," he begged. "Let me keep you safe. It will end me if you die."

He let the rawness of his terror bleed into his words, and it succeeded, if the little hitch in Rook's breath was anything to go by. She ducked her face down to hide in his chest, and he smiled despite his earnestness, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

"If it comes," Rook said slowly, and his heart jumped with joy, "you have to promise my friends can come too. Staci, Earl, Sharky, the Ryes, my goddaughter. All of them. I'm not living through a goddamn apocalypse without them."

Goddaughter. He wanted to know the story behind that, but for now he was just thrilled at her tentative olive branch, unable to help himself from squeezing her just a little bit tighter.

"Yes, my love, anything," Joseph promised, pressing desperate kisses against her head.

Reassured, she settled herself back down into his lap with a mumbled, "'Kay good," and Joseph closed his eyes and leaned into her, reveling in the moment he never thought would come.

Later he would shoo the dog off the couch so Rook could nap on his chest, and he would fall asleep happier than any other moment in his life, whispering prayers in thanks and deference to the God that sent him on the Path to her. One day, when she was ready, he would introduce her to his Family, all of them, show her more sides to his siblings and his Flock than the war-heading heralds he'd sent them off to be. There was much left to do still—her friends needed places within their Gates, and he needed to ready his bunker to receive her, fill it with things she would like and people she cared for, so they could enjoy their temporary life until the new Eden.

But for now, he held her, basking in the simplicity of being whole, and rejoiced.

'Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready.' ~ Revelation 19:7.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who came along for the ride!

John's story is up next because Sadboi™ got me from the start with those EYES 3 I can't guarantee it'll be up soon though, I've almost finished writing the first draft but I like to spend months rereading and editing things, plus the new semester started up so goodbye free time, I hardly knew ye.

PS I have a headcanon of Joseph 100% being the Antichrist for SO many reasons do not me (do if you wanna chat about it!)